Violets

Mignon, you love the myrtle and the rose, The lily, all the flowers which grace the close Of queenly Nature’s Eden; love them well, For there are mysteries more than man can tell Deep-hidden in their perfumed censers, dear, And music unknown to the human ear In their harmonious scales of varied hues-- Crimson imperial and eastern blues, Emerald, and sheeny ors, and glittering steel-- Still more for those who have a soul to feel The breath of love which is of beauty born. Bright flowers, bejewelled with the dew of morn, As you are sweet and pure; and God, I trow, Took of the new-born violet’s deepest glow To make the wonder of your tender eyes.